Archive for January, 2008
A Trip Through the Xenoverse
The Year 4763 T.C. It has been nearly five millennium since mankind abandoned the blue sphere from which it was spawned. Yes, nearly five thousands years since humanity Transcended Christ and began to live amongst the heavens themselves.
“Earth.” A word as forgotten as the circumstances which drove them into the stars and away from their homeland. Legends have been passed down throughout the ages, and all refer fondly to this misplaced paradise now only referred to as Lost Jerusalem…
Humanity has spread itself across the cosmos, inhabiting worlds and galaxies that once seemed so very far away. Posterity will never have to fear extinction from the outside, for the human seed has proliferated so perfectly that no wayward comet or supernova star now threatens the entirety of Man. But he himself is still the great threat. He and his terrifying creations.
Enter Omega-1, the Deus Weapon System. While this creation is by no means God, man could not help but assign it such a fantastic moniker. The weapon to end all weapons. A biological behemoth with enough power to destroy an entire planet with relative ease. Yes, man has spread itself across the universe, but he has gained little wisdom yet.
The Omega-1 system was the greatest achievement of mankind. Comprised of three unique components, Deus was designed to never fail, never die, and never surrender. First, it is powered by the Zohar, a monolithic artifact excavated on Lost Jerusalem a few hundred years before man was forced to leave. Man has never understood this precious device, but over the centuries has learned how to use it as a limitless energy source, and what better to power the weapon to end all weapons. The next component of Deus is the biological computer known as Kadmony. This hyper-advanced system allows Omega-1 to constantly assess its surroundings and create adaptations to maximize efficacy and ensure survivability. A weapon that evolves and repairs; a weapon that can never be destroyed. Lastly, Omega-1 is comprised of the physical body and mind of Deus–the weapon itself.
It is perfect.
It is undeniable.
And it cannot be controlled.
Upon activation Deus went out of control, the power flowing from the mysterious Zohar causing its destructive output to far exceed even the expected results. The colony planet Michtam, and nearly all of its five billion human inhabitants, was completely annihilated. An error of genocidal proportions. Omega-1 is immediately disassembled and scheduled for destruction. The cost already too great…
The survivors from Michtam are loaded onto the large military cruiser which carried Deus to them–the Eldridge. The captain has specific orders to fly into the depths of unknown space and eradicate the greatest weapon ever created before returning with the survivors. He is solemn and so is his crew…their cargo is the most destructive force ever known, and the people left within its wake.
The Eldridge plunges into deep space. Every second pulling Omega-1 farther and farther away from the core planets. The captain secretly wonders if they’ll find Lost Jerusalem in this treacherous black void. All can only hope…
And then it happens.
Deus becomes self-aware. It understands what is happening. They are ferrying it out to die. And this simply cannot be.
A flight officer screams to the captain that Omega-1 is starting up. Words scroll across the screen in large red block letters: “And ye shall be as gods…” She grows more nervous as Deus begins to assimilate the ship’s controls and completely take over their systems. The captain barks orders as his crew desperately attempts to regain command of their ship. Nothing works and in a last ditch effort, the captain orders the crew to blow the physical connections across the ship, hopefully severing Deus’s access to the Eldridge’s mainframe.
But even that fails.
And Deus is angry.
“He” activates the ships hyperdrive and sets his coordinates for mankind’s new capital world: Fifth Jerusalem. Deus is going to eradicate humanity for its insolence. The captain orders everyone to evacuate the ship. He will stay behind and do that which only he can do: initiate the self-destruction of the Eldridge and save humanity from certain doom.
The alarms sound and the crew and their civilian survivors panic. Between the flashes of red light and the piercing sound of the siren, people attempt to find their way to the escape shuttles. Pandemonium. Fear. Chaos. Just as Deus would prefer…
As the shuttles launch, the Eldridge’s guns fire up and destroy each fleeing vessel. Deus is exacting his revenge gleefully, and no human will live this day. One after another, the people try to escape, but each are cut down by the very weapons that once protected them…
And there is a boy. Lost.
Separated from his family, the young child wanders through the ship…desperately seeking salvation and safety. He is all alone and scared. He runs and runs and finds no one, just red lights and loud noise. He soon finds himself in a small hangar, standing before the ancient Zohar. Its pale yellow glows, illuminating his tears and captivating his mind.
And then he hears a soft voice…
Abel looks in every direction, but finds no one. The voice speaks out again…asking him why he is here…why he is so afraid…
The small boy soon realizes that the voice is emanating from the Zohar itself, and he collapses before it frightened. The voice begs for him to not be afraid, but Abel weeps uncontrollably. And with tears running down his cheeks he screams out at the top of his voice, “Mother…!”
Meanwhile, the captain looks out of his deck and sees the endless slaughter of the fleeing passengers. He sits back in his chair calmly and fires up the self-destruct sequence. Opening a locket with his family’s portrait in it, he sighs. Holding it close to his chest, he closes his eyes…and presses the final button to complete the end-game order.
And the Eldridge explodes in a fantastic display of sacrifice and lights. The ship’s remains fall slowly to a barren planet below and rest across its landscape.
Everyone is dead.
Everyone except her. She rises from the ashes of genesis and looks out upon the horizon. She appears as human as anyone, but her mind is anything but. Her name is Mother, and she is a program. A contingency. And her objective is to recreate the body of Deus himself with the flesh of man…man which she will create. She is the ultimate failsafe…a creation of the biological computer Kadmony to spawn enough people to repair the damaged fleshly body of Deus himself so that he can rise again. After a brief moment of humanity, staring off into the horizon, she begins the centuries long process of repairing Omega-1. She gives birth to thirteen men, who will eagerly aid her in her endeavor, as much out of automatonic programming as a base, hungry desire for her beauty. Her first born was to be king of all men, forever, or until there was enough to replenish the flesh of Deus…his name is Cain..
Yes, everyone is dead.
Everyone except him. The small child Abel finds himself alone, again, on this derelict planet. The voice emanating from the Zohar having protected him from the explosion and guided him down to the surface. For Abel has been chosen. The Zohar itself is in actuality a prison, which has trapped a hyper-intelligent and powerful entity within it. We would call it “God.”This entity desires for nothing more than its freedom, but the Zohar must be destroyed for it to return to its home. Abel will be that destroyer. This small child will rise up with the unlimited power of the Zohar flowing through him and defeat Omega-1, freeing this God from its shackles.
The stage is set, and the pieces begin to move.
Cain and his 12 ministers of man, and their Queen–the Mother– are working “tirelessly” to create a kingdom of Man for the reconstruction of Deus, the false God which has created them. While Abel, a scared child all alone, has been chosen by a God from another dimension to free it from its shackles. But there is more…
After the Mother gives birth to her eager help, she herself is split. She gives birth to two females and dies. As what will happen for the rest of eternity, once the Mother dies, a random woman will awaken as the Mother…the programming within her brain activating and the person she was dying–only the goal remains. In this instance, however, it is not random. One of the children she begets is the creation of the entity within the Zohar…a companion for Abel, a companion for all time.
The Zohar, being connected through the Omega-1 system, influenced the Kadmony program and created its own biological servant, which would aid Abel and his future forms in his mission to free it.
Abel wanders the shoreline and sandy beaches and he is completely taken by the sight he beholds: his Mother. He runs to her and hugs her, but she does not hug him as a mother would. She holds him as a lover, for she loves this small boy so passionately that nothing in the world could separate them. Yes, she was created in his Mother’s image, based on Abel’s desire for her in his moment of weakness on the Eldridge, but she will be anything but. Her name is Elyham; it always will be…
The two make a home and the years go by. They fall in love. Abel does not know of his fated role as the liberator of the God within the Zohar, but soon…maybe in this lifetime, or in another…he will. Time has no meaning.
Cain and his followers quickly begin organizing an empire. They soon receive word that there were survivors from Eldridge, humans outside their mode and program. They must be destroyed, as nothing will stand in the way of the resurrection of “God.” Cain hunts Abel down and the two face each other–kings of men, but kings of a different kind. Brothers in power and purpose. The power of Deus’s minions is too much for Abel, as he has not yet discovered his power as the Chosen one, and soon he and Elyham are killed without mercy. Cain…pleasing his God…
But they will live again, endlessly until their mission is complete. They live many lives; many different lives throughout the ages. But they always find each other and fall in love, destined to be together, destined to one day discover their purpose and destroy the impostor of God, who has created a mankind to one day replenish his flesh.
A planet of people created from the womb of a computer. A contingency. Completely unaware of their slavery, of the shackles that bind them. And one day Abel…or Kim…or Lacan…or any of his many incarnations will not only free the God within the Zohar, but by doing so, he will free all of this humanity as well…
And she will be by his side, whenever that time comes…
No, I Am Legend
I suppose this entry won’t make much sense. Let’s just get that out there now. I’m in a mood. And if you know me well, you’d know the mood in which I am referring…
Death.
Death.
Death.
Its simply how I feel. Alive in the grave. An animated corpse and little more.
What makes me so special? What makes anything so special? I have been unhappy for quite some time…
I suffer from occupational depression. My job is the anchor which pulls me deep into the ocean’s blue. I drown every day…eight to five, or was noon to nine..? I hate what I do. People suffer and die. People lack knowledge. People are…people…
And I sit there, selling computers to Tom, Dick, and Harry.
I make no difference. I disseminate information technology. I am the most pathetic cog in the most pathetic wheel. What I do has no future, and its past is as poor as its present. I make no difference. I change no lives. I create or repel customers for a corporation which cares little for me, and even less for them.
The great discontent…
Can I be happy doing what I do..?
Can I be happy doing anything at all..?
I used to make fun of people who took their lives, and in some way I still find amusement in their cowardice. But it is dark where I dwell. I feel like my life is slipping by and I am so utterly helpless to correct my course. I am twenty-two and destitute. My possessions…meaningless. My achievements…I laugh at the thought.
Darkness is consuming me. I feel it everywhere. Its so cold. And I am so alone in this. Friends, loved ones…they could never understand. Their compassion rings hollow, and for that I am greatly sorry. I want their words to change me, but they do not. They make me feel selfish.
I suppose I am selfish.
I want everything I’ve never had. I think about it all so often…
Like the time we slept together, innocently. We were on a high school trip and you slept in my lap. I was so intoxicated with the moment that I did not dare move, fearing I would stir you from your peaceful slumber. I loved that moment. I wanted you so badly. I found you beautiful. I found you intelligent. I found you to be everything I ever wanted…
And now you are married.
I never found the moment, I never possessed the chance…to tell you…that I do believe we could love one another.
Or the time we had our first hang out at the library in college. You wore a green sweat jacket. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. We pretended to study and between stolen glances, I wished that I did not have a girlfriend and I could take you…all of you.
And now you are considering moving into your boyfriend’s home.
Women…perhaps that is the source of my great discontent.
But that would be unfair to say. I have met the most amazing women, and they have loved me…or something akin to it. But I reject them. Selfishly. Or perhaps…sheepishly. I create dissent. I engineer reasons to be unhappy. I am imperfect, yes, but I create in them the greatest of imperfections in which no one could survive.
Even now…there is one…
And I think…why not?
Then I push my feelings deep within my humanity, finding myself here…writing about everything that never was, never would be, or simply never could be…
I have been told that I’m pretentious.
Well, yes.
How could anyone so unhappy be anything but…?
I have been told that I’m arrogant.
Now that, I do believe, is an overstatement.
I find pleasure in relatively nothing. How could an arrogant man be so displeased with himself..? I find my own mental faculties lacking. I find myself repugnant. There is relatively little to redeem.
I look in the mirror and see Adonis himself.
Yet, I am unhappy with what I see.
Because I see what lies behind: a man, scared and alone. Scared that he’ll never figure this world out, never find the Answer within the orchestra of lies….never find someone worth loving that he will allow himself to truly love.
I will make one prediction here and now…
I will change this world. I will stand tall and shakes the heavens, creating something beautiful and divine…
Or I will die a young, unhappy man. Satisfied only with the finality of his life.
I have to find value in this life. I have to discover a greater purpose. Because if I cannot…then I do not need to be here.
None of us do…
To My Family
I was outside smoking a cigarette. Unfortunately my last. I hope my roommate picks me up a pack.
And I started thinking about her. I think about her a lot. I love her so much.
And for whatever reason it made me think about them. Maybe it was the short leap within my heart–from the one I love that I do not call family, to the ones I love so dearly that I do. But I started thinking about everything they mean to me, and what they’ve done. I have to get it out. I have to speak.
To the east coast. You’re so Italian it hurts. You live within hours from one another, but all call a different state home. New England doesn’t even begin to describe you. Growing up…I hated you. I hated you. I wanted you to love me so badly, but I felt like my family was ostracized. The derelict daughter who chased a boy and a dream into the deep south. We had somehow forsook an ancient code, a fidelity unwritten, but so clearly felt.
I felt your pretension. I felt as if you viewed us as inferior, as trash and rabble. Hillbillies on the frontier. Red state residents who didn’t deserve the honored seat at the table in which you so cherished. You rarely visited, and in so many cases you never visited. Our humble lives on the plains of North Texas seemed so inconvenient.
I hated it. I wanted your love so badly. I wanted to enjoy your food and have you regale me with tales of your youth. I wanted your accent. You made me feel like mine was such a shackle. A brand of ill omen, clearly marking me as fallen. I would speak to you all from time to time and end each call with the hollow and obligatory, “I love you,” that assuredly sounded as fake as it felt.
I didn’t know you. How could I..?
Growing old and growing up has done a lot for us. I realize now that you do not hate me. You do not despise us for our flight. In fact, I feel now more than ever I command your respect. I have achieved so easily what so many of you have struggled to do. I am the son of the great betrayer, and believe me I am his son. While I was given the gift of gab which you all so perfectly possess, I am that which none of you are: the prodigal son of Craig Griffin, and his gifts run through me. And I know you respect me.
I know you love me.
And for the longest time, I did not. It hurt so badly. Spending time with you as an adult has done so much for us. I have seen all of you in me. What should have been so obvious throughout the years–the wit, the various neuroses, and of course the fine tastes–are now so apparent. We are family, and you mean so much to me.
I miss you all. God, I miss you. I missed you for what seems like a lifetime. I am still the derelict, still part of the family that left the family. But I have a seat at your table. I suppose I always did. Now, I feel as if I am wanted there. I know you all never meant to do this, or to make me feel this way. You were simply living your lives…you had other family so close. But growing up without you wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all…
To the hooligans. You all are so ridiculous it hurts. But god knows I love you for it. A family of abused children. One sister, three brothers. A history that is so insane, so rife with toil and tragedy that at times I am simply overcome. Yet, you all stayed close. From Pennsylvania to Carolina back down to Texas…I never felt like you were far away. We share a last name and a camaraderie that transcends typical family.
I love you. I always have.
I sometimes lay in bed and wonder what awful things you all went through at the hands of my father’s father. I hate him. Knowing that his sin rushes through my very veins unnerves me. I want to eradicate every trace of him. Yet we all carry his mark upon our backs–a lion with eagle wings that we cannot shake so easily. Even as I write I see him in me…between key strokes and music shuffles I take sips from my beer, the vice which drove him to hurt you so deeply. I am him. We all are. But you all made the conscious decision to persevere, casting aside a childhood of strife and pain to become what you are today.
I respect you more than you know. Without you all I do not know what my concept of family would be.
To my Uncle and Aunt, fellow residents of the Lone Star State…you define me. Every Christmas or Fourth of July you were there. Every big football game and event…you found your way to support me, braving the six hour drive across state. Without you…I do not know what I would do. I love you so dearly I cannot begin to describe it to you.
To my Uncle bathing in the South Carolina sun…I am glad we have gotten to know one another. For so long your taciturn nature struck me as indifference, but I know you love me and my family. I remember seeing pictures of me as a small child, barely the age of four, and you were always there. We would play like brothers. We lived together then. My parents taking you in to protect you from the hell which you all so unbelievably experienced. The pictures always make me happy. You seemed so loving and so protective of me. I was always waiting for that side of you to return, but as an adult I realized that I am no longer the small child who would sleep on your chest or who you would throw around just to make smile. You are sagely and stern, but I will always remember how you cared for me like your very own…
Family is a weird thing. It’s not a choice, but a matter of circumstance. You cannot choose them, and they certainly did not choose you. I have a hard time understanding what exactly I am. I come from such different places. The blood that flows through me is the amalgam of two distinctly different histories, compiled from so many more distinctly different histories. But at this level, at this time, I realize how fortunate I am that I have the people around me that I do.
From the east coast clique to the band of hooligans on the other side, I am thankful for all of you. Even if it took a life time for me to realize that.
You Can’t Just Blame It On Our Mothers…
Quick entry. Below are the five (or so) songs that define me most as a person, or at least specific aspects of my persona. These are completely limited, superficial, and whimsical. But hell, so am I.
Listen, love, learn. Or just listen.
Download LinkMXPX - The Final Slow Dance
This one goes out to you baby. You’re my always always. And this will always be our song, even if we loved it as twelve year olds.
Download LinkThe Jamestown Story - In Loving Memory
Although this song is about the loss of a dear friend to suicide, I think it cuts to the depths of our being and illuminates the unsaid passions and love we take for granted so much.
Download LinkYoung Love - Too Young To Fight It
I got that young love, and I won’t ever let it go. To friends, to enemies…may misfortune follow you, but never caught up!
Download LinkBad Religion - American Jesus
This song may possess the single most amazing verse ever penned. Beginning at 1:55, this verse has two voices–one indicting the American Jesus for all of its evils, and the other blindly professing its adoration and love for it. Listen to one, go back, listen to the other. Its amazing.
Download LinkLess Than Jake - Look What Happened
This song was written for everyone that ever questioned where they were and what they were doing with their life. The ultimate “pick up and go” anthem for a generation of malcontents.
On The Nature Of Happiness…
Last night I had a dream. I do not know if it was induced by the general malaise in which I live my everyday life or by the source of extreme comfort and care that slept beside me, but it was powerful.
I woke up and all I could see was light…an intense yet dull glow which filled the sky. Pulling myself up a beautiful ocean came into view directly in front of me. I was on a beach. The sand penetrated my skin, but for some reason felt soft and warm. I panned the entire area and found nothing…just an endless sandy shoreline and the methodical ebb and flow of the dark waters, depositing their foamy salt with every thrust upon the land.
To my back the white sands met the light which first brought me into this dream world at a horizon of nothingness. I walked along the coast, letting the water gently crash against my feet and recede just as quickly. I walked and walked forever…finding nary a person, place, or the most scant sign of life.
I sat back down and dragged my fingers through the landscape. Picking the individual grains of coarse white dirt from my finger tips, I realized that the entire place was monochromatic: a black and white world shaded only by the grays of my own humanity. And I was alone. I was completely alone.
And yet, quickly I grew calm and at peace. I was alone, in a world of sheer simplicity…lacking meaning, purpose, and anticipation. I sat upon a beach of nothingness, a void in the cosmic realm. The only man to leave his print, the only one to disturb this serene gray world.
Moments were eternities. The concept of time meant absolutely nothing to me. I was never bored or excited, but tranquil and happy. Alone. Forever. I had found heaven, or more correctly it had found me. I wondered for many eternities if I had died, and this was my purgatory. But I felt so wondrous in the pale white glow that shone above me. Its relative warmth against my face with the cool water rushing my feet…this could not be punishment or exile. This was the afterlife. I had finally died.
And I was happy.
I laughed, so loud that I’m sure the cacophony of pleasure that erupted from me shook the foundations of my small slice of the universe. I stood and stuck my arms out, bathing in the nothingness which surrounded me with a glee I could never possibly describe. Opening my eyes, I discovered a large stone that had previously not been there. I walked to it slowly, for here there was no need to run. It possessed within its timeless surface an inscription which looked as if a small child had chiseled it many years ago. Its imperfections were plenty, but its message was clear. It read: For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
I ran my fingers over the shallow inscription and felt the power of God resonating through them. I knew without a doubt that I had died and this was my eternal resting place–a beach, white and black, grayed only by my own humanity, and completely devoid of anything else.
And I was certainly happy.
I awoke from this dream and had to rush to get to my job. The source of my discontent. My mind is rotting, whithering away at a job that is so completely incapable of fulfilling me. I sat in my cube, awaiting the dreaded ring of the next customer, and I thought of my dream. I could feel the warmth of the pale light upon me. I could feel the soft sand between my finger. I could hear only the sweet melody of the water.
And then the phone rang.
I kept finding myself thinking of that beach of nothingness. Alone. Without care or purpose, without anticipation or expectation. I wanted so desperately to be there…to feel the smooth stone of my God’s message, proclaiming loudly that I had been delivered, saved from myself and the miserable world of his whimsical creation.
I know no such beach exists, at least not here and now–in this life. But I need to make a change. I need to be happy. I need to stop rotting away. My mind cannot be contained any longer…these thoughts must be espoused, these feelings must be proliferated.
I am going to complete my certification process and return to education. Its going to take a long while, but I refuse to do nothing any longer.
Nothing…
Nothingness…
The beach of nothingness…
God…I cannot wait. One day, one eternity, we will be together and I will leave this world behind. But until then, I have to make myself happy here. And god damn it…I’m going to start now.
Owning it All
I remember riding in my best friend’s car one day years ago. We found ourselves in the most modest of neighbors: white doesn’t even begin to describe it. The street a smooth and wide surface that made even his old wheels sound reliable. The homes, two stories and big windows, shining back on us the sun light which crept over the tall oaks that dotted their green landscapes. Suburban America…the living and breathing dream that we all were enveloped in from the day we were born into this providential red, white, and blue land. It was nice…
My best friend and I sat silent, as best friends are able to do. Both taking in the sights and listening to the sweet whisper of the American Dream within our consciousness. He looked over at me and said, “Ya know…no one owns any of this.”
And in the most amazing way, he would go on to change my life.
He went on to tell me, in the most centered and even voice I had ever heard from him, that no one really owns anything. Looking over his steering arm, he explained that people were foolish to believe themselves to have any real private property rights in America. I listened without saying a word…
People do not own their homes, the bank does. And they allow you to live there while you promise to pay them back. The very money that the bank lent you to “buy” your home was borrowed from a regional bank who borrowed it from the Federal Reserve who in turn created it out of thin air. A system of debt…overwhelming and intrusive. And the bottom pawn, the American consumer, comes out of this tunnel of shit and anoints himself “home owner,” king of the Castle and all Creation. He trailed off softly, “No one owns anything…”
I looked at every home, the rows and rows of Castles, and I finally broke my silence. I told him that he was right, but some people do pay it off–some people truly do own their homes. He laughed, as he is prone to do, and asked me what I thought property tax truly was. Before I could answer he erupted, losing the even tone he had previously held. He told me that property tax was nothing more than rent to the Great Landowner, that every year we pay the government for the right to use this land. I agreed, but incompletely. I argued that, yes, while it is reminiscent of rent the government does not have control over your private property like a land owner.
“Private property?!” he seemed to say, quite amused. You see, he was right. The government was the Great Landowner and our property tax are nothing more than our rent. Should the government choose to build a public work or bless a private party to build an “economically advantageous” establish, they can and will take your home. If you own something it cannot be taken away, and in America you pay rent and when the curtain calls, you will lose everything.
That conversation changed a lot of my perspectives on the American Dream. I realized how completely phony it was. How it exists to create the illusion of success and progress, but does not deliver and never could. Even our wages, the fruits of our tireless labors, are the property of the government. The Sixteenth Amendment created an unapportioned tax on our income, which means that the government can lawfully take one-hundred percent of it. You are not taxed at thirty percent. You are merely allowed to keep seventy percent of it. You do not even own the money you make.
The entire system is fraudulent. The entire dream is bankrupt.
Owning it all.
Owning nothing at all.
The truth is we are slaves. You are a slave–a wage slave who rents his time and returns to “his” mortgaged home with what little money the government has allowed you to keep. I am a slave–a cog in the red, white, and blue plantation. I return to my rented apartment, upon rented land, with what little money the government has allowed me to keep.
My best friend, possessor of the humblest of ideas, changed my life. I no longer see Castles and small kings, but towers in a system of illusion. A fleeting dream we all wish to believe…a reverberating chorus that whispers so very softly, “We own it all…”
And then one day you wake up, owning nothing, nothing at all…
They Say The Man Makes The Clothes…
I remember it like it was yesterday…a political neophyte lost in a sea of good ol’ boys and conservative whores. My eyes saturated with pin stripes and silk ties, low cut blouses and pencil skirts…the fabrics of the game. A game I wanted so desperately to play. I wanted to talk their talk, I wanted to walk their walk, I wanted to have sinful sex while professing the sanctity of our holy matrimony….but most of all I wanted to dress like them.
I was completely inundated with the presentation of power. The double-breasted suits…the three piece with a vest. A veritable badge of honor in the high stakes game of politics. To be the man you have to dress like the man.
And I did. I bought a suit that made me look like God himself. I took my conservative whore shopping and in between the litany of ties we had sex, all the while professing the sanctity of our promising holy matrimony. The weapons of my image…the hard steel of the intellectual politico beginning to play the great game itself.
I remember the first time I felt that I stood amongst them as equals. Pinstripes and silk ties. A beautiful girl at my side in a low cut blouse, pencil skirt, and kitten heels. We had arrived. I had arrived. I walked so much more proud, my wingtips clapping as I strolled. I checked and rechecked the knot in my tie…ensuring that the double winsor of my facade remained taunt. Yes, I had certainly arrived.
I took photos with Congressmen. I shook State Representatives’ hands. I might as well have kissed babies. My name came forth with a confidence I had never experienced. And they listened. They listened so closely. Their eyes betrayed my greatest hope: My name was Elliott James Griffin, and they would remember me.
I returned to my hotel room elated. The soft cottons of my armor weighing heavily upon me, I decided to change into more mundane attire. I will never forget loosening that tie, looking into the mirror, and believing that I had stood amongst greatness and shined all the brighter. Clothes made the man on this day, I thought.
And she arrived, my Virgin Mary herself. An image of iconic chastity. Golden hair and grim attire. Light and dark. Salvation and sin. She walked up to me slowly and grabbed the tie I was working clumsily to remove and told me how great I looked in my new clothes…she looked at me hungrily…
So a mere twenty minutes after listening to a conservative stump speech on morality and Christian values I had sex with her. Everywhere. And for as long as we wanted. Beautiful sin. Golden hair and grimmer sins.
Yes, the clothes had made the man. Had made a man into something he was not. Had taken me from the confines of comfort and into their world–good ol’ boys and conservative whores. I had lied, to everyone and anyone who saw me. The promise of power, the perception of influence…had intoxicated me. Drove me to wear a suit of lies and misdirection. And a tie of fine Italian silk.
After we had sex I remember looking into the same mirror in which I stood before. And I saw myself for what I am: t-shirt and jeans, an Everyman if there ever was one. I went to the hospitality suite for the Convention, with my pillar of Godliness on my arm, and I was disgusted. The image had changed…it had evolved. The men now had their jackets over chairs. Dress sleeves rolled up. Top button undone, tie loose. Cigar in mouth. Beer in hand.
And I thought…so this is how they look when they are having fun.
In between plumes of smoke they argued policy and acted intelligent. Sure some were. Most were not. But they felt safe…within their suit of lies and misdirection. I was disgusted. The same starry eyed child who had been taken in by this gimmick now stood alone in a crowd. Even my girl disgusted me…as I could overhear her talking about abortion and its illegitimacy, its immortality, its terrible sinfulness.
And I thought…I better not hear a word to the contrary of this poetic diatribe should we have just conceived a child.
That was the day it happened. The complete arc in and of itself. I had played a part, become a symbol and a soldier, and had played their game–and played it all too well. But I was saddened and annoyed. The repercussions can be felt today. I work for a Fortune 30 company and I wear t-shirt and jeans, an Everyman if there ever was one. I find the people who dress nicely to take phone calls from the general public repugnant and pretentious. I am sickened by the faux-status that cotton can grant someone. I am angered by the popular perception that thoughts are relative in quality and quantity to the clothes I drape upon my back.
Call it evolution, call it devolution…call it whatever you like. The old adage that the man makes the clothes is total bullshit. We all wear our masks…neat hair and crisper shirts. Professionalism? No. A uniform of your conformity…of your acceptance into the game mastered by others. A badge of infidelity to your own individuality.
I see the eyes, cutting me as I walk past “important” meetings. I saw the eyes the following year when I attended the same political convention in flip flops and a sweater. I can feel your anger upon my back. But it is not anger at me, but at your own inability to free yourself from the status quo.
But even I am a victim of this. Why do I not walk around naked? If I am so free, why do I wear anything at all..? Because on some level I am still conditioned…a foot soldier in the culture war. White bread and mayonnaise. Middle America. I am a product of so much social engineering that the mere thought of public nakedness offends me…
So here I am, still in a suit of lies and misdirections…a Ron Paul t-shirt and designer jeans. A clown who won’t wear a suit for anyone…except the girl who wanted to take it off. And she did, all the while professing to our promising holy matrimony.
And I still ain’t married.
One Line to Rule Them All
V: Would you prefer a lie or the truth?
Few moments in cinematic, or for that matter literary, history have made me feel as strongly as that line does. Sometimes I watch the entire film (V For Vendetta) just for the ecstasy that the above line induces–like a small glimpse of genius fed into my mind through my eyes and ears, invariably altering everything I know and everything I believe for the most infinitesimal moment. V’s line is so much more than purely good screenplay writing, but an indictment upon the character of our being. It strikes to the core of our universe and the thin line upon which we tread that separates us from the obvious truth and the emphatic lies that govern our lives.
The scene is simple; the setting unimpressive. V and Evey are sitting within the Shadow Gallery watching a news cast which reports ominously that a distinguished man within London’s political-media conglomerate has died. They report his death as an accident, an act of God–robbing the dutifully ignorant peoples of Britannia of their prized ‘Voice.’
Yes, the Voice of London he is called. A voice so loud, so rife with misdirection and lies, that the people consume willingly and with little discussion. Yes, he is the voice, and the masses are his ears, absorbing the cacophony of mistruth gleefully. And that voice was permanently silenced by V.
Evey begins to understand the situation and asks V a direct question: Did you kill him?
And he responds coolly, “Would you prefer a lie or the truth?”
The line is perfect for so many reasons. It cuts to the heart of our postmodern dilemma. Would you prefer a lie or the truth? The lie could be anything–it is infinite and ambiguous, boundless and free. Yet the truth is concrete. Rooted in fact and embellished only by perspective and interpretation. Many versus one. The infinite versus the finite. The ambiguous versus the defined. The line resonates with the pulse of our current society. Would you prefer the truth or a lie? Do you want to remain willfully ignorant or do you demand the Answer? Are you satisfied with what you hear…or does the Voice quench your thirst for knowledge?
V isn’t asking her if she wants an answer; he is asking her to allow him to satisfy her in whatever means she desires. Giving her a choice–to which world will she enter. It is so relevant to our condition as a society at large. As people, do we demand the truth and accept it willingly or do we cling to things as petty as our own sense of right and wrong, our own baseless opinions, our own mythological history which compels us to reject contradictory fact in the name of national and social pride? V wants to satisfy her, not crush her under the weight of his own decision. It is a caring and overtly sensitive line.
And Evey, being the strong girl that she is, demands the truth. To which V succinctly responds, “I killed him.”
Evey is shocked, appalled…although she knows the Voice is evil, she is overcome with emotion and blurts out, “Are you going to kill more people!?”
“Yes.”
Perfection.
You see there are many lies…our lives are nothing more than a web of contradictions and misdirections. The very glue of our society is the white lie. We are bound to one another by a veil of secrecy that is both obvious and covert. We, the janus-faced, are actors in the grand play. The stage of our lives. Dancing around the cold truth to stay warm.
Oh yes, there is but one truth. In any number of possible phenomena there is but one truth. Every complex and seemingly impossible situation has but one ultimate underlying truth in which we must face. Why are we here? What is the purpose of this world? Is there a God? Am I God himself? Am I alone? What is love?
Well…would you prefer a lie or the truth?
You must ask yourself how many times you could demand the truth, at possible cost of your own universe–the web of lies and mythologies you have surrounded yourself with and immersed your soul in so that you could survive the day.
I have made a life out of seeking objective truth and what I have found more than anything is my own incompatibility with it. The old adage ‘truth hurts’ was penned for a reason. Truth shatters our world. It reveals friends as murderers. Lovers as cheaters. And even worse…it may reveal the pointlessness of our existence.
So I ask you again, if you could face any question of any relevance, would you prefer a lie or the truth?
I will always take the truth. I will always demand the truth. My resolution, the annual promise of a new and nonexist year, will be to find truth in everything. To be truth. To disseminate it. To believe in it.